Tea and Biscuits
by shdwanna
Summary: The tea was steeping, and Sir Integra looked rather less forbidding in her bathrobe, which I suppose is what gave me courage enough to ask, “Why do you hate Christmas?” Seras and Integra have a conversation at 3 AM.


Disclaimer: "Hellsing" and its characters are Not Mine. The story is, however. I am making no profit from it, only the pleasure of feedback, and thus will be quite Put Out if you take it. If you'd like to put it up somewhere, please ask.  
  
  
  
Tea and Biscuits  
  
  
  
A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.  
  
- Garrison Keillor  
  
  
  
Shivering, I turned away from the window. It had been raining most of the day and all night, and it had gotten cold enough the rain had changed to sleet. "Tea," I decided. "Tea's just the thing on a night like this."  
  
Halfway to the kitchen, it occurred to me to wonder whether I could actually *drink* tea. "Of course I can," I decided. There wouldn't be any British vampires if they couldn't drink tea. The very idea of going through eternity without it, even occasionally, was just unbearable.  
  
The night light over the stove was on, of course, but to my utter surprise, the kitchen wasn't deserted. Sir Integra, in bathrobe and slippers, was standing, back to me, head down, hands braced on the counter, a picture of - well - misery. Except that I couldn't imagine Sir Integra being miserable like that. It was the kind of posture that came with trying hard not to cry.  
  
"I bleeding hate Christmas."  
  
"Why?" I asked, before I realized she'd probably whispered it. Ruddy supersensitive hearing.  
  
She whirled, coming up with a knife from the block. "Oh. It's you." She put the knife back. I wasn't sure she realized she'd even had it.  
  
"I - I'm sorry. I just wanted some - some tea. It's cold out."  
  
"Vampires don't feel cold," she informed me. "It's an entirely mortal failing."  
  
"N-no, I'm not cold. It's just. comforting."  
  
"Comforting," she echoed. "I suppose it is, at that. I have the kettle on; you're welcome to share it."  
  
"Th-thank you."  
  
She gave me a look of pure irritation. "Quit lurking in the doorway. I don't bite, you know. I'd imagine I have more to fear from you from that quarter than vice versa."  
  
"Oh. Well. I don't bite people." I came into the room, hesitant.  
  
"I know." She pulled down another cup and poured a little hot water into the teapot.  
  
I supposed, if I started biting, my lifespan would be measured in minutes. Not that I *wanted* to. Most of the time.  
  
The tea was steeping, and Sir Integra looked rather less forbidding in her bathrobe, which I suppose is what gave me courage enough to ask, "Why do you hate Christmas?"  
  
"What?" She looked back at me like she'd forgotten I was there in the intervening minutes whilst she poured and measured.  
  
"When I came in. You said you hate Christmas. Why?"  
  
She looked at me for what felt like a very long time. "The holiday where everyone gets together with people they can't stand to give each other things they don't want in celebration of a sacred event most of them don't believe in? Rankest hypocrisy, and six weeks where no one wants to get anything done, coincident with the longest nights of the year and correspondingly high vampire activity. What's not to hate?"  
  
"What about peace on Earth and the brotherhood of men?" I asked, feeling really ridiculous. I loved Christmas, always had, and it somehow disturbed me that my master's master was so cynical about it.  
  
"No such thing. It's like Father Christmas; a lie we tell each other to make ourselves feel better."  
  
"And - and family's important. Not everybody hates their family, you know. I loved my Da, before - before he died."  
  
She froze in the act of pouring, fortunately coming back to herself before she spilled. "A holiday where family is sacred is all bollocks if you don't have a family. Sugar?"  
  
"Yes, please. But - family doesn't have to be the people you're related to. Family is the people you love."  
  
Her mouth quirked. "Out of the mouths of undead babes. Did you build a family, then? After your father died?"  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
"And where's your 'family' now?"  
  
"They're - they're all dead." It still hurt, from time to time; there were afternoons that I dreamt they were still alive, and someone was going to wake me up and tease me for oversleeping.  
  
"Of course, so are you, so perhaps that's appropriate."  
  
The anger was bright and sharp and sudden, like the knife she'd held earlier. "Do you have to do that?"  
  
"Do what?" She seemed unruffled by my harsh tone.  
  
"I know what I am. You don't have to throw it at me, like I'm likely to forget."  
  
"You'd best not. Cream?"  
  
"I won't! I *can't*. I don't even know if I can *drink* tea with cream in it."  
  
"You can. Alucard does, every so often."  
  
"Then yes, please."  
  
"You can drink anything; you just can't have solid food." She handed me the cup. "There are biscuits in the tin. At least, there usually are."  
  
"You just said I can't have solid food."  
  
"You can't - oh. Alucard doesn't eat them. He just - gnaws on them. Like a toddler with a zwieback."  
  
Master was certainly quite peculiar, at times. I decided to skip the biscuits, though Sir Integra put a few on a plate for herself.  
  
"It's three in the morning. Shouldn't you be asleep?" I asked, which sounded a lot ruder than it had in my head.  
  
"Likely so," she said, unperturbed. "Can't sleep. It's rather ironic - the nights last forever, and I can't get any sleep."  
  
"I can't sleep at night, either."  
  
"You're not supposed to be able to. Naturally nocturnal, you are."  
  
"You're doing it again."  
  
"Throwing it at you? Vampire-baiting is a hobby of mine."  
  
"Baiting Master, yes. But I'm not him! I'm me."  
  
The look she gave me was quite peculiar indeed. "So you are." And then again, "So you are," in a voice that was contemplative. "I'm sorry, Seras. I've done you a great wrong."  
  
"It's - it's okay." The last thing I'd expected was an *apology*. Not from *Sir Integra*.  
  
"It's not. I hate it when people do that to me. Hate it. And here I am doing it to you, without a second thought, because. because you're a vampire."  
  
"I *am* a vampire."  
  
"You are. But, at least thus far, you've behaved far better than he who sired you. And unlike him, *you* have a choice."  
  
"If I don't, he'll kill me. Or somebody in Hellsing will."  
  
"Very true." She sipped at her tea, and the silence stretched. "My father loved Christmas," she said at last. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to break the spell. This was easily the longest I'd ever spoken with Sir Integra, and I was frustratingly curious about my master's master. "He started to get excited about it on the first day of December, and sometime during the first week I'd arrive home from school and find the whole house turned into a fairyland. There were lights everywhere, and garlands, and a huge tree in the foyer. and a little one in my room." She sighed.  
  
"You miss him," I said. I felt stupid saying so, but Sir Integra had always struck me as almost superhuman, beyond petty concerns like loneliness.  
  
"Every day," she admitted. "But Christmas is the worst."  
  
"Has it been a long time?"  
  
"Ten years."  
  
Over half my lifetime ago. My own father had died two years ago - was it still going to hurt like this, eight years down the line? "Was he - killed in the line of duty?" Dad's partner, standing in the rain outside, saying, "I'm sorry, Kitten.."  
  
"Not directly." I watched her fingers tighten around the cup.  
  
"I'm sorry - you don't have to tell me if it bothers you."  
  
"I don't mind." She gave me something that had a passing acquaintance with a smile. "Everyone already knows the story before they ever come in contact with me - it's kind of nice to tell it myself." She proceeded to tell me about her father's death, and incidentally about the revival of my master.  
  
By the time she finished, the teapot was empty and I knew more about this house and the Hellsings than six months of just living here ever gave me. Everyone knew everything already, as Sir Integra said, and more than once I'd felt like they were all speaking a language that sounded like English but wasn't really. "Thank you," I said.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For telling me your story. I mean, I - didn't think you liked me," I admitted.  
  
"Like you?" she echoed, like the thought hadn't occurred to her.  
  
I bit my lip - carefully; it only takes once to learn caution with *that* particular nervous habit - and looked away. Maybe she didn't; maybe she'd opened up just because I was there and she was. lonely? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put words in your mouth."  
  
"Why didn't you think I liked you?"  
  
She hadn't yet said she *did*. "Well.you're very. um."  
  
"Frigid? Standoffish? A raging bitch on wheels?" Her tone was amused, even if her expression was impassive.  
  
"Reserved?" I suggested. *Scary* was the word I was thinking.  
  
"I am, at that." She shook her head, and half-smiled. "What it must be like for you, thrown into the middle of all this with no explanation. Just ten years' worth of flying subtext."  
  
"Confusing," I admitted. "Half the time I don't know what's going on."  
  
"Knowing what's going on isn't all that it's cracked up to be. The ignorant sleep better, at least." She sighed again. "I should go back to bed, or I'll be worthless by tomorrow night, when something dreadful will doubtless happen."  
  
"Why? What's tomorrow night?"  
  
She started to reply, then paused. "Winter solstice, actually. The longest night of the year."  
  
"Which means after tomorrow the nights'll start getting shorter."  
  
"So it does. So it does. Good night, Seras."  
  
"Merry Christmas, Sir Integra."  
  
She didn't reply, but gave me a slow and gentle smile before she left.  
  
I put the teacups and the pot in the sink and looked outside. It was snowing. "White Christmas," I said with a smile of my own. Tomorrow night, I decided, I would ask Walter where the Christmas lights were.  
  
Maybe we could give Sir Integra her fairyland again. 


End file.
